


Hiflneim's Marvelous Marvel Fic Junk Drawer

by Hiflneim (SignedSealedAndDigitized)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Companionable Snark, Eventual Romance, Everyday, Flirting, Friendship, Little of that, One-Shots, Reader-Insert, Romance, little of this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 10:42:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignedSealedAndDigitized/pseuds/Hiflneim
Summary: I found a bunch of old Marvel stuff I wrote a million years ago and hell, it's gotta live somewhere, right?Buncha oneshots, various pairings, various lengths, various AUs. A lot of it's very relatively-normal-reader-chilling-with-heroes kinda stuff. It's a veritable junk drawer. As I said, much of this is pretty old, so a lot of these aren't up-to-date, canon-wise. Also, not all of these are romantic by any stretch; having friends is fun too, y'know.I can also take requests if you're into that sorta thing (but I'll do 'em at my own discretion), and please let me know if you you'd like to see any of the oneshots turned into separate entities/series.





	1. Pancake Breakfast (Peter Quill, Reader)

8:45 AM. Pretty early for a weekend morning (for you, anyway). 

 

You headed into the kitchen clad in a pair of lightweight sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt that’d been through the wash so many times you could practically see through it. You poured yourself a quick glass of water, took a sip, and set it down gently on the countertop, using the tip of your finger to muffle the light clink so that it was barely perceptible. After a few moments of silent thought, you’d made your mind up about breakfast.

 

You then yawned, opened up the fridge. The cool draft tickled your bed-warm nose as you reached in. Eggs, milk, butter. You claimed the ingredients and retreated, headed for the pantry, added flour, baking powder, and a bit of sugar to the mix.

 

You measured by eye; this was standard procedure by now, whisked together the dry ingredients, cracked in two eggs and ended it all with a splash of milk and a few tablespoons of melted butter poured in in simultaneity. A quick whisk to bring it all together, then it was back to the pantry for a few add-ins. 

 

Peter suddenly sat up from where he’d crashed on the couch last night. “Good morning.”

 

“Morning.” You didn’t sound completely awake yet, most likely because you weren’t; your voice had that rough, sleepy bent to it. You cleared your throat. “You’re up early.”

 

“I heard the chaos.”

 

You laughed through your nose. “Yeah, I bet.”

 

He groaned and stood up to stretch. “Whatcha got in the works?”

 

You held up a hand. “Patience, please. You’re witnessing a master at work.”

 

“Oh-ho-ho, don’t mind me, then.” He took a few steps forward and settled into the barstool, where he watched you intently.

 

You tossed a handful of coconut flakes into the batter, then returned to the fridge for a bit more milk to thin everything a little. “You could make the coffee, if you want.”

 

Peter stretched again; a few vertebrae cracked. “Couuuuuld, but-”

 

You glanced up from the mixing bowl and shot him a look.

 

“Know what? I could totally make the coffee.”

 

You lowered your head, returning focus to the bowl as your expression softened again. “I gave you my lovely couch for the night, Quill, come on, a little reciprocity here.”

 

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it,” he half-whined as he stood. “Hey, quick quesh, where are literally all of the things I need to make coffee?”

 

You rolled your eyes and swung open a nearby cabinet. “First clue: in there.”

 

He retrieved the coffee grounds and a filter a moment later, then headed for the coffee machine.

 

Deciding to go all-out, you also tossed in some chocolate chips. Once everything was looking good, you pulled out the largest pan, flicked on the stove and, after a moment, started loading the pan with identical circles of batter.

 

Quill seemed to figure out the coffee machine without too much difficulty, and he returned to his spot before the first batch was flipped.

 

“I don’t know, master, I’m still not super convinced-”

 

You cut him off with the sizzle that came from flipping the first pancake. “Uh-huh. Talk to me again in about eight minutes.”

 

About eight minutes later, you were seated across from each other at the tiny kitchen table near the window. The city below was in full morning rush mode now, weekend or not, but you were high enough off of the street that you could only really hear the traffic if you tried.

 

Peter cut out a wedge from a four-pancake-high stack, then brandished the skewered pancake pieces in front of you for a moment. “I know how you must feel, making special delicacies for me, renowned explorer of the universe, to convey the thanks that you’re too shy to say out loud.”

 

You snorted and cut a bite from your own stack with little fanfare. “Hey now, don’t think you’re so special. I probably woulda made this anyway, just FYI. Hangover cure-all.” You shoved the bite into your mouth, then reached for your cup of coffee a-la-Starlord and took a tiny sip.

 

“This coffee sucks, Quill.”


	2. The Gala (Thor, Loki, Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Free drinks can be dangerous.
> 
> (This is a separate thing now! Please give 'A Pretty Whatever Thing' a try if you like where this is going.)

How you managed an invitation to this gala you’d never fully know. You’d initially assumed that it was because of work, but you couldn’t find any of your coworkers around, so that argument was worn pretty thin after a lap or two of the ballroom. You were self-conscious at your lack of status for a bit, what with being in a room full of famous people and all, but quickly adopted the best mentality to have in such a situation: fuck it, and also hooray for free drinks.

 

Still, when you took your first flute of champagne, you walked while sipping at it, orbiting the perimeter of the room so nobody would ask you whose kid you were or who you worked for only for you to reply with ‘the venue.’

 

Two drinks in and you were comfortable enough to stay in one place for a few minutes at once. You had the nagging excited-little-kid-in-the-back-of-your-mind urge to try to sneak a few photos of some of the more notable attendees, but luckily, quickly shelved that desire. To take photos of people without bothering to walk up and introduce yourself first was a little pathetic, and if you had a say in the matter, you’d prefer not coming across that way.

 

Some random guy walked up to you at one point and struck up a conversation. It took a solid fifteen minutes for you to realize it was flirting; damn your ability to maintain decent conversations at parties without putting in any effort into considering the repercussions.

 

“So, can I ask you out to dinner sometime?”

 

“Oh, uh…” you laughed weakly. “Sure, I guess.” He seemed nice enough, had a cool-sounding job in the biotech industry, and you’d entertain the offer for now, anyway, as long as he wasn’t going to insist on becoming your best buddy for the night. “Hand me your phone?”

 

He complied and you typed in your number and typed in your contact name as ‘(F/N) from Gala’.

 

When he took the phone back he chuckled. “Very descriptive, I like it.”

 

“Thanks. Now, if you don’t mind too much, I’m gonna go mingle for a while. Work obligations, you know.”

 

“No trouble at all,” he said with a smile. “Hope to see you soon.”

 

You nodded and grabbed a cocktail from a waiter as you walked away.

 

Over time, your route through the party grew braver. You made a game of walking close enough to the most famous guests to catch bits of their conversations.

 

Five drinks in and you had the chutzpah to walk up to Thor.

 

“I’ll have you know I’m pretty into Norse mythology- oh wait, fuck, should I call it history?”

 

He smiled apologetically. “That probably  _ would _ be more correct, yes.”

 

“Ugh, wow, I’m sorry-” You cut yourself off, holding up a hand. “Waitwaitwait- I’ll make it up to you with a joke.”

 

He raised his tankard in a ‘go on, then’ gesture.

 

“Okay, okay, hang on-” you drained the rest of your drink, not that there was much left in your glass at that point. “What do you say...when you fall off a fjord?”

 

He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Hm?”

 

“FJUCK!”

 

You both laughed harder that you should at that.

 

“Oh, I like you,” he said through leftover laughter, wiping a bit of moisture from the corner of his eye. “You’re fun. What do you do?”

 

“Oh, I work here. Not like waitstaff or anything, because this sort of party is way not what I’m used to. I do more, like, kinda PR-y, event-y stuff for them, and I’m also realizing that I could probably explain this waaaaaay better to you in a few hours.”

 

“Oh, but what’s the fun in that?” He plucked two more glasses from a tray as they passed and handed one to you. “Come, let us make the most of this rare event.”

 

“Alright, if you insist.”

 

You followed him around for a while, feeling kind of awkward but mostly just pleased with yourself for being friendly for a change. Plus you’d made the god of thunder laugh at one of your shitty jokes; this would later be catalogued as one of your top-tier lifetime accomplishments. 

 

Seven drinks in and you were up there with the drunkest you’d been that year. At some point, they swapped out the initially classy cocktail party soundtrack for more traditional ‘drunk people would like to party’ music. You’d taken off your heels and tossed them into the growing pile where most of the ladies in attendance had been shedding theirs as the party wore on. A few songs in and you were full-on dancing (an EXTREME rarity). This didn’t last, though, and soon you exited the dance floor and returned to your new party buddy.

 

“Hello again. That’s enough of that for me for a long damned time.”

 

“You were quite good. Very...free. Very loose.”

 

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Oh boy, that’s reassuring.” You turned back to the shoe pile. “Oh man I’m not even going to  _ try _ to find those.”

 

“Those what?”

 

“Um, shoes. See?” You pointed to your bare feet, then to the mountain of platforms, stilettos, pumps, et cetera. “Shoe pile.”

 

“Good that I’m not classy and didn’t wear tights, though, or they’d be  _ alllllll _ ripped up by now.”

 

Suddenly the recognizable timbre of Tony Stark issued forth from one of the seating areas to your left. “Avengers, hey!” Thor ushered you to follow him over. You gave a weak wave to a handful of very famous superheroes seated on a few low couches and chairs around a drinks table.

 

“Round of shots for the team. Earth tradition, Point Break, in case you didn’t know. It’ll be fun.”

 

Thor took one of the tiny glasses, then glanced to you inquisitively, almost egging you on. You looked at him, furrowed your brows, looked at the glass for a few seconds. You heard someone ask ‘who’s she?’ and smirked. You glanced back to Thor.

 

“Now see, I know what this is gonna do, it’s gonna take me to the edge and then it’s like a fifty-fifty chance whether I’m gonna be the  _ perfect _ amount of drunk or  _ just  _ over the limit.”

 

He nodded. “I see. What does ‘just over the limit’ lead to?”

 

You shrugged exaggeratedly. “Don’t really know, hasn’t happened too much. Shall we find out?”

 

He chuckled. “One more, please.”

 

After a very brief toast from Tony, you took the shot quickly enough that there was barely any afterburn (although, to be fair, you were pretty smashed at that point). 

 

Everything got a bit fuzzy from then on out. Some of the guests who actually had places to be started leaving, and eventually, the party had shrunk to about half of what it originally was.

 

“This is soooo much better; you can actually hear people when you talk to them,” you said a little louder than was necessary considering the point you’d just made. You recognized this and added in a softer tone: “Way better. On that note, I am going to go lie down until I can walk in a straight line, which might be a while.”

 

Thor smiled obligingly. “Good plan.”

 

All of the couches were close to full occupancy but one, on which the raven-haired, black-clad brother of Thor slumped sulkily. You waved as you headed over and he visibly scoffed. You ignored it as you sat down next to him. 

 

“Well hey, this is cool, I’ve been hanging out with your brother all night.” You tucked some loose hairs back into place.

 

“It certainly sounds that way.”

 

You detected, but ignored the snark, and reached for a full glass of clear liquid sitting on the table. “This wouldn’t happen to be water, would it?” You dipped a fingertip in and brought it to your mouth. “Absolutely it isn’t.”

 

Loki rolled his eyes and slid another glass your way. “This one is.”

 

You looked at it quizzically, then at him, and repeated this gesture a few times.

 

His stony expression broke and he cracked a smirk at the absurdity of the gesture. “What?”

 

You pushed the glass a few inches away with two fingertips. “Uhhh, to be honest I dunno if I should trust you, I guess. You’re supposed to be super bad right? Didn’t you try to like, kill the world a few years ago?”

 

“You’re partly correct.”

 

“Wait, then why’re you here?”

 

“To be guarded.”   
  


You furrowed your brows. “That seems like a really fucking stupid idea.”

 

He laughed through his teeth; it sounded like steam escaping. “Well said.”

 

You smiled at the laugh.  _ Made two gods laugh in one night: check. _

 

“I haven’t done anything to the water. It was given to me; no alcohol this evening allowed as per Stark.”

 

“Ah,” you said with a sagelike nod. “In that case-” you reached for the glass and drained it quickly, then set it down on the table on a spare cocktail napkin. “I should probably take a few measures to make my future self feel a little less awful now that I’m partied out.”

  
  


“I saw you speaking to another man a few hours ago. It seemed as though your future self is not yet ‘partied out’.”

 

“Nonono...it’s jus-” you hiccupped. “Excuse me. It’s just easier to be nice to people is all. Plus, I mean, like, I’ll go out to dinner with a guy. That’s a pretty whatever thing.”

 

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Where I’m from sharing a private meal with another is not such a ‘whatever thing’.”

 

You opened your eyes wide. “Oh, really? Oh, yikes…Perhaps I’ve made a mistake. Anyway, though, hang on, you were watching me? That’s a little suspect.”

 

“You know, for someone incapable of standing up straight, you seem to maintain quite a steady grasp of language every other sentence or so.”

 

“Thank you, thank you, I’ve been called a pedantic drunk many times. But do explain.”

 

“The way you were circling the edge of the ballroom like some sort of raptor amused me.”

 

“Fair enough.” Suddenly you remembered your abandoned shoes and your face fell.

 

“What is it?”

 

You pinched the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb. “My shoes are somewhere in there.” You gestured loosely toward the still sizeable pile with your free hand. “That’s gonna be quite the scavenger hunt.”

 

He looked over at the shoes and hummed his acknowledgement. “Why bother wearing such ridiculous things if only to abandon them after an hour?”

 

“It’s just a thing. Wildly uncomfy shoes are but a small price to pay to look fancy-slash-sexy for a while, and then when everyone’s drunk nobody cares anymore. What, they don’t do that where you’re from?”

 

“Perhaps they do. I hadn’t noticed, though.”

 

“My new friend!” Thor exclaimed as he made his way to the couch. “I see you’ve met my brother. Watch him now, he’s a sneaky one.”

 

Loki simpered at Thor for a moment before letting his face fall to a mild glower.

 

“He seems okay,” you replied. “He gave me some water and stuff.”

 

“Some wa- oh, I see.” He scratched at his beard and glanced at the glass on the cocktail napkin. “That water, I take it?”

 

“Mhm. Why?”

 

“Well, that water was prepared specially with a dose of an Asgardian sleeping potion, you see, to act as a sleep aid so that my brother might be a little more manageable this evening.” He glanced to Loki, who was, naturally, fuming at the thought. “Easy to be on your best behavior while asleep, after all.”

 

“Oh, I getcha. So, when am I supposed to start feeling it?”

 

“Oh, quite soon after drinking it, I should say.”

 

Loki leaned back then, with his arms behind his head. “You do realize that a mortal needs a far smaller dose for it to be effective, I assume?”   
  


Thor continued scratching at his beard, more fervently this time. His eyes were fraught with worry, and you noticed.  “I do realize. You don’t think it’ll-”

 

“What, kill her?” Loki chuckled and glanced at you to gauge your reaction. You only glowered...and then fell straight forward as the potion took hold. You heard Loki’s breath forcibly escape his body as your head collided with his chest.

 

Seemed your shoes would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's longer than I remember...might also potentially be series-worthy?


	3. Movie Date (Bucky, Reader)

“Что ты делаете?” (What are  _ informal  _ you  _ formal  _ doing?)

 

“Делаешь.” ( _ Informal _ ‘doing.’)

 

“What?”

 

“You said informal ‘you’ with a formal you verb conjugation.” Bucky replied from his spot on the sofa. “You’re mixing forms.”

 

“Well, anyway-” you swung your leg over the armrest and slid onto the sofa. “Conjugation, smonjugation. My point is ‘what are you doing,’ so I’ll repeat: What’re you doing?”

 

“Reading. He held up a novel. Catching up on pop culture.”

 

“Nice idea,” you replied, sitting down on the floor across from him. “Although…” You feigned deep thought for a moment. “I might have a better idea. A sort of...speedy version of reading, you might say. With pictures, not words. Well, maybe some words, but mostly pictures.”

 

He closed the book and set it down on the coffee table. “Proposing a movie date, are you?” He smirked.

 

You smiled in return. “No, no, I’m proposing a movie  _ marathon _ . It’s early yet, and we both lead practically nocturnal lifestyles anyway. We can do snacks, too. The whole deal.”

 

He nodded his assent. “You’ve convinced me.”

 

“I’m thinking we should start with the classics. How do westerns sound to you?”

 

“You like westerns?” He laughed. “You continue to surprise me day by day.”

 

“What, Bucky, are you accusing me of being a fake fan?” You stood up and headed for the DVD shelves (yes, even the high-tech Avengers facility kept a healthy stock of DVDs on hand). You gestured dramatically to your legs. “Come on, I wear jeans all the time.”

 

After getting the DVD player all set up to play  _ The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly _ , you joined him on the sofa. He placed an arm over your shoulder and you leaned in close. “Just watch me, I’ll quote the whole thing.”

 

He laughed and planted a kiss on the tip of your nose. “I believe you, I believe you.” You grinned, grabbed the remote, and hit play.

 

As soon as the intro credits started up, you dutifully whistled along to the theme, glancing over at Bucky to gauge his reaction once in a while. After a few bars of your very accurate but also very shrill tune, he spoke up.

 

“You know, if you keep that up, I’m contractually obligated to take you out.”

  
“I’d like to see you try,” you cut back with a wink before resting your head on his chest. “Just wait until we get to sci-fi movies: I do  _ excellent  _ robot impressions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm realizing now that all of these explicitly mention couches or sofas...what's with me and couches or sofas?


	4. Sing-Along (Peter Quill, Reader)

Singing along to music was not your M.O., at least it wasn’t as far as the other Guardians knew. That was something you reserved for private moments after especially long days. Also, admittedly, it wasn’t exactly singing...more like vehemently mouthing lyrics.

That day, you’d decided to preface your shower with a preliminary sound bath partway through getting undressed. Pretty confident that everyone else was busy having dinner or doing their own thing, you pulled your MP3 player from the drawer beneath your bed as you slid the rest of the way out of your trousers. You spent a few minutes scrolling through your hundreds of playlists until you found one that seemed appropriate: Sunny Mid-July Roadtrip. (You liked to get hyper-specific with names; back on Earth, that’d kinda been your thing for all your streaming accounts.)

It didn’t take more than a few minutes of listening before you rose to your feet to dance along. You really went for it too; jumping, the occasional head-bang. All silent, of course, but quite elaborate nonetheless. You turned the volume up a few more clicks.

This made it loud enough, apparently, for you to be unable to hear Peter call out to announce that dinner was ready, or to hear the knock on your door, or to hear the door slide open after he punched in the entry code. You only noticed when you turned around that you weren’t alone, and stopped immediately. The music continued; you quickly paused it.

“How long?” you asked almost silently.

He laughed, leaned against the doorframe. “Probably one or two songs. You switched up tempos at one point. All pretty quiet, though. What d’you call it, stealth dancing?”

You nodded. “I see.” Thanks to incredible self-restraint, your facial expression managed to belie the extreme embarrassment coursing through your veins. You pulled out both earbuds at once and tossed the MP3 player onto your bed before planting your hands onto your hips. “I am sorely disappointed in myself that you had to see that.”

At that point, Rocket and Groot walked by, presumably on their way to the lower deck. Rocket glanced into the room, you immediately locked eyes, and he guffawed as he walked by.

“You look ready to jump out the airlock, (Y/N). What, Quill catch ya’ in the act or somethin’?”

You shrugged, acting cool as a cucumber to diffuse tension and minimize the risk of callback jokes over the next few days. “In a sense.”

“Listen, Quill,” you said as you watched the pair go. “Why don’t you come in here the rest of the way?”

He smirked, suddenly suave. “Well, don’t mind if I do.”

“Ha ha, very cute,” you deadpanned. “I’d rather not have the whole team learn from experience what kinda underwear I like to wear. Eyes up here, by the way, Starboy.”

Wandering eyes clearly found out, he exhaled sharply through his nose and looked up to lock eyes with you. “Just curious about that pattern. It’s very, uh, unusual.” You shot him a doubtful glance and nodded. “Anyway,” he started up again. “What were you listening to?”

“Well…” You scratched at your neck. “It’s all newer stuff, kinda hard to describe. Listen to some if you want.” You tossed your hands into the air. “Borrow the whole thing for a while. I’ve got a few thousand songs on there.” You laughed weakly through your nose. “Plus, craving for music is well and thoroughly dead at the moment.”

He raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips for a moment. “I just might have to take you up on that. You did seem to be having a pretty good time.”

“My absolute pleasure. Anyway-” Deciding to play the reverse-embarrassment card (with, let’s be frank, a little flirtatious behavior mixed in), you started to pull off you t-shirt, resuming undressing. While your half-removed t-shirt was squarely in front of your face, you spoke up again through the soft fabric. “If you could give me, like, a second to take a shower, I’d be happy to join you guys for dinner in a bit.”

“Hm, oh? Oh! Yep. Yeah, uh-huh, absolutely,” he replied in a less-than-eloquent river of words. “Take your time.”

“Mhm, will do.”

He seemed to regain his composure pretty quickly, though; after he opened the door and crossed over the threshold of the room, he made one last remark. “Gotta say, though, (Y/N), you have made me curious about what you get up to in the shower.”

You smirked and threw the t-shirt in his direction. “Oh, yeah, I bet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mention in a sofa in this one...


	5. Mastery of Your Craft Pt. 1 (Thor, (Implied Loki), Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gettin' crafty.

Four months to the day since you’d been brought to Asgard to heal from some accidentally-Asgardian-inflicted wounds. Two and a half months to the day since you’d taken up work in the glassblowing studio to kill time (no internet access here, after all).

 

Glassblowing was something you always enjoyed in college after taking a few exploratory classes. Your professor had said on more than one occasion that you had a knack for it, and you took that to heart. Sure enough, when you took up the tools in the spacious--and extremely well-ventilated, you might add--Asgardian workshop, you seemed to remember what to do well enough.

 

You’d started out with paperweights and other such simple stuff for the first few days, then moved on to helping out the artisans with making drinking goblets and beer mugs and so on. They didn’t need too many--glass was more of a special occasion-type material, not the everyday stuff--which made sense considering the typical roughness the warriors and Valkyries treated their cups with. The work was hard but rewarding, and you’d eventually built up some decent arm muscles from making the larger, heavier pieces. 

 

You’d even introduced the artisans to a technique or two, which led to a batch of Earth-inspired glassware being distributed throughout the castle. You’d assumed that recognizing some of the design elements is what brought Thor down to the studio that day, but you weren’t entirely sure.

 

“Hello, human,” he offered with a friendly smile.

 

You pulled a nearly-finished goblet from the reheating chamber and kept it spinning as you assessed the shape. “Good afternoon. What brings you here?”

 

“I noticed this-” He held up a beer mug featuring distinctly modern restrain from typical heavy design work. “You have a fine mastery of your craft.”

 

You glanced up and wiped the sweat from your brow as you smiled your thanks. “Hardly, but I’m workin’ on it.” You returned the glass to the reheating chamber; the lip needed to be a bit more flared. “Need anything?”

 

“I wanted only to check on your progress. How are you faring?”

 

“Oh, uh,” you laughed. “Frankly, I think I’ve been fine for a while. I haven’t using any of the healing balm for a couple of weeks at this point.” You removed the glass from the chamber again and spun the metal rod it was perched on the end of as quickly as possible. Gradually, the lip of the glass flared out as you’d intended. Satisfied, you overturned the glass onto a nearby table, tapped the rod to knock it off, and placed it in the annealing oven with the aid of a pair of tongs perfectly suited to your hand. “I just like doing this more than hunting for work back on Earth.”

 

He nodded in understanding. “Yes, I see you’ve taken to it. You look stronger than when you arrived.”

 

You nodded in agreement. “Definitely stronger. It’s a workout for sure. It’s rewarding, though, to see your progress.”

 

“Like seeing the bodies of your foes pile up on the battlefield.”

 

“Um...in a sense.”

 

He laughed. “I am only joking. I am glad to hear you are doing well. Enjoy your work.”

 

“I surely will. Goodbye!”

 

\---A few days later---

 

You’d placed a request for Thor to return to the studio, and luckily, he heeded it. You waved a hello as he stepped into the workshop. 

 

“So, hear me out-” You spread out a few sheets of crinkly scrolled paper out across the table, and used a few spare tools to hold the corners down. “Glass daggers. Easily made, comparatively weak, but light to throw and very damaging if placed correctly. What do you think?”

 

“Have you tested them?”

 

You nodded, grabbed for one (you’d prepared a few of them in preparation for Thor’s visit) and flung it at a wooden post outside with deadly precision. It wedged into the wood with a satisfying thud.

 

Thor’s eyes widened a bit at that; clearly, this was an unexpected gesture. “Been practicing, have you?”

 

You shrugged, smiled. “Only enough to prove my point.” You reached for another one and handed it to him. “Feel free to try.”

 

He hurled one at the post; it went in  _ completely _ , unlike yours, which was wedged in only about a fifth of the way, and he hummed affirmatively. “They do fly wonderfully. Wonderful though they are, this is not a weapon for me, I feel. My brother will certainly enjoy these, though.”

 

That was exactly what you’d hoped to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sofas in this one either...guess I stopped being enamored of them.


	6. Finals Season (Loki, Reader)

You were deep in the throes of getting your master’s degree, and finals season was upon you. Yes, you already held an internship position with the engineering department responsible for equipping the Avengers, and that was damned neat, but high-ranking internship position or not, getting that damned degree mattered to you. This being the case, as soon as work was out for the day, you’d started up yet another marathon study session (this would make for day four). 

With pen in hand, notes splayed all across your desk, and hawklike concentration, you sat perched on your desk chair. You were an absurd tangle of limbs; one arm cradled a propped-open textbook while the other acted as the fulcrum for propping up your chin, one leg was bent, and the other stuck straight out beneath the desk so that your foot pressed firmly against the wall. Occasionally, you moved the arm responsible for propping your head up to scroll through handouts on your laptop. A cup of tea and a few different snacks sat nearby, but those went mostly forgotten as you’d elected to chomp the life out of a piece of gum instead. As for music, well you’d had music playing, but the playlist had ended over an hour ago and you apparently still hadn’t noticed. 

Loki materialized behind you. “Ah, the collegiette at work.”

Your shoulders fell at the sound of his voice and you brought the pen to rest. Well, there went that thought. You tossed it onto the desk; it quickly bounced off and clattered to the floor.

Loki chuckled. “Distracted?”

“Finals,” you replied.

“Finals..?” You could hear that his eyebrows were raised inquiringly.

An explanation, then. You didn’t look at him, but your sharp, tense tone translated quite well despite that. “Large and important comprehensive exams. Frequently the sole determining factor as to whether you receive a satisfactory score in a course or not. Don’t have ‘em on Asgard, hm?” You eased your chin into your free hand and mumbled into your palm and looked back to your gargantuan to-do list. “Cause here, they suck.”

He took a few paces about the room. “Do correct me if I’m wrong, but is this not a pointless exercise?” He stopped beside you and reached for a few strands of your hair that had come loose from the style you’d been sporting earlier. Your eyes closed at the touch. “You do already work here, yes?”

“Yeah, I do,” you half-hummed, still concentrating on storing away a few more pieces of information before your concentration was well and thoroughly broken. “It’s just that terminal case of perfectionism of mine, that one you love to exploit for personal amusement, getting in the way. Somewhere along the line my subconscious decided that I can’t leave anything unfinished ever-ever-for-the-rest-of-my-life.” You gave up on concentrating and smacked the book closed. “It’s really lovely.” The chair whined as you pulled yourself out of the sitting position that had finally registered to you as incredibly uncomfortable. “Plus, I might not always work here.”

“True though that may be, you look half-dead.”

You laughed weakly. “Gee, thanks. I feel half-dead too.”

He hummed. “A shame.” He leaned forward again, lowered his voice. “Should I take that to mean that you won’t have any energy left for later, then?”

You blushed. “We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what I'm procrastinating~

**Author's Note:**

> Yeeeeeesh, I haven't seen most of these in yeeeeears. Lemme know your thoughts; might help the muse return.


End file.
